


hair

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Light Angst, M/M, POV Niccolò Fares, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: Nico has always liked boys, and it has not always been an even swing. The way they stand, the muscles that move under their skin, their lopsided smiles on sharp cheekbones. Deep laughs and squared shoulders. He’s always noticed.





	hair

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posting this from tumblr!

Marti’s facial hair grows fast. If he spends the night, Nico feels the stubble against the back of his neck in a soft pressed kiss. Against his own face, too, when he skips a day of shaving and they make out after school in his bed. Against his palm when he cups Marti’s face and feels his jaw move under his fingers to deepen it.

He first noticed it that morning after Halloween and hasn’t stopped noticing it since.

After too long the prickles make Nico’s lips burn raw and red, but he doesn’t mind. It’s something he didn’t know he’d like so much (so all consumingly) until it happened; to kiss a man.

This has been cropping up a lot, lately: hot for the little things. Things he never knew he wanted and now wonders how any thirst was quenched without them. (Steamy daydreams plus inexperience tend to leave extra room for missing details. The details are better than Nico could have ever imagined.)

This detail, especially: Nico’s skin is left a little irritated hours after Marti’s drug his unshaved face down from his neck. Down his chest. Stomach. Lower than that. Nico feels it still, like a memory map of pink incandescent skin that hints an innocent trail from point A to B.

Bless this minutia, Nico would have never been able to fathom it in a fantasy.

He has always liked boys, and it has not always been an even swing. The way they stand, the muscles that move under their skin, their lopsided smiles on sharp cheekbones. Deep laughs and squared shoulders. He’s always noticed. Sometimes he thinks the pull is just a tad stronger for them. But that unbalance comes as no surprise; everything about him seems to be tilted. Always one grain of sand on the scale that never quite breaks even, no matter what side he puts it on.

(Run the numbers on Nico, you’ll get a new outcome every time. He knows this.)

But putting numbers to his feelings about it feels misguided, somehow. 50/50. 60/40. That doesn’t work right, still feels uneven despite equaling to 100.

And it took a while to feel 100. Growing up wondering if he was gay, maybe realizing not so much when he met Maddi and his face got hot the first time she undressed in front of him. Not in shyness or embarrassment, either.

The whole thing was confusing, but he didn’t think about it much when he was with her. Actually, being with her made things clearer. His feelings were sorted into two neat boxes, stacked right on top of one another: _I love my girlfriend_ and _boys are hot._ One was much easier to unpack.

The honest way to describe it now would be 100/100. Full throttle, foot pressing the pedal to the floor, empty tank of gas as a result. When he likes someone, that is. Anatomy becomes secondary.

But it’s not selfish to like anatomy. It’s not selfish to like Marti’s, to feel like his whole body rests at scorching just when they kiss — to become absolutely insatiable for five o’clock shadow.

In a way he never did for pillowy skin or lashes coated in mascara or a deep V with no bra.

Not that it didn’t happen, but it didn’t happen like this.

It’s different. But a good different.

Enjoying something like this just a year ago might have brought him shame: _It’s a phase. You’re not well. It’s not true._ All things he’s heard before, blatantly obvious about his crushes in hindsight. Fair enough. He was so high on them he doesn’t doubt he tried to hide it.

But how was he supposed to know? When they got in his head like this and he had no way to test drive his feelings. See for himself if they were true or not. All he needed was a little space and a little time.

No one gave him any.

Except Marti. Who, maybe, more than anyone else in the world, figured this out step by step right alongside him. Both of their feet tripping. Finding sync again. Stumbling. But it’s been a nice, long walk into the unknown.

And Marti has strong legs for when Nico needs carrying, sometimes. Or for resting his head on when he can’t go any further.

Right now they’re twisted between his own. Nothing about them smooth — the hair brushing against the softer parts of Nico’s skin.

It feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi to me on [tumblr](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/) and reblog [the post](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/post/183753882806/hair) if you liked it?
> 
> 💛


End file.
